


Good News for People Who Love Bad News

by hanwritessolo



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Corporate, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 13:37:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18209009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanwritessolo/pseuds/hanwritessolo
Summary: Your breakup with Noctis is as inevitable as the meteoric rise to success of his gaming empire that is Lucis Labs. With your growing responsibilities in Altissia Works and his constantly busy schedule, distance has proven a great hurdle, time an even greater challenge. Still, there are too many things that have been left unsaid. And among the things you have inadvertently kept from Noctis, being pregnant with his child should not have been one of them.





	Good News for People Who Love Bad News

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hanalunettes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanalunettes/gifts).



> Another commissioned piece! This is sort of a continuation of the corporate!AU piece I wrote earlier for Noctis, which you can read [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17337377).

 

The bright Altissian sun in this fine Monday morning usually does the trick to jumpstart your hectic work day. That, and an excellent cup of coffee coupled with a plateful of pancakes down at Café Leville. This has become your religious routine after living in this scenic city by the sea for almost a year, and for a year it has brought you nothing but small comfort even away from home.

However, the moment you snap awake does not allow you to relish any of these simple pleasures.

Instead, you are greeted by a dizzying wave of nausea as you jump out of bed, hurrying straight to your bathroom, dry heaving into the sink. Your throat is parched by acid, your mouth as metallic as a handful of loose change. Wash, rinse, repeat. By now, you are already used to the bitter taste that always seem to linger at the tip of your tongue—which, you would argue, not as bitter as the day you and Noctis parted ways, but none of it matters now. You are moving forward, you tell yourself in the mirror. You are moving forward, one preposterously lightheaded morning at a time.

You only wish you can say the same to the slowly growing bump in your belly.

Perhaps _moving forward_ is easier said than done. Scratch that—it _is_ always, most infinitely, easier _said_ than done. These last couple of months with Noctis chronicled exactly that: how it is easy for the two of you to say _We’ll make time for each other,_ yet a voicemail is a much reasonable company than an actual phone call; how easy it is for him to say _I’ll stay over_ on occasions he is in town, only for you to wake up to an empty bed; how easy it is for you to say _I love you_ and not truly mean it, how the words tremble and shake with an uncertainty of all the forgotten messages, the forgotten dinners, the forgotten birthdays. You have to say, all those mutually brilliant but doomed attempts of maintaining this long distance relationship is exceptionally impressive, if not quite ambitious. Noctis tried. He really did. And so did you.

The weeks that carried on since the day you saw him last were all a numbing blur. A miserable restart, each day a trial run. At breakfast, he always sat across from you, poured caramel syrup into your pancakes and dashed a little into your cup of coffee. Now, you cannot take the scent of caramel without aching for his sweet smile. You ache for his sweet smile but between you and the shadow of this memory plastered on every empty seat are the hours he did not call back, an immeasurable space, the Cygillan Ocean.

Still, you do not cross the open seas. You do not board the next ship. You choose to live without the high from the sweetener. Besides, why should his absence matter, anyway? You probably have embraced your pillows more than you have ever held him in your arms, kissed your wine glass more than you have ever kissed him. You have drowned your longings in the river of your tears hoping it would cleanse your body from the memory of his warmth. But muscle memory is a curse; it only knows how to remember and does not permit you to forget. If you could, you would kiss as many people as possible just so you can erase the stamp of his lips on yours.

But that’s not you.

So you practice forgetting. They say practice makes perfect, but in the battlefield that is heartbreak, practice is the only thing that makes sense. You unlearn habits that remind you of him. You teach yourself to listen to all the love songs he used to play in the stereo of your living room without flinching at the ghost of his laughter. You teach yourself to play the video games he used to compete with you without hearing the sound of his delighted voice. You say his name over and over and over until it loses its meaning. You do not wait for his call. You do not beg him to stay. You do not ask to keep his promise. You inhale the sickly sweet scent of caramel and do not think of him.

And you have not been thinking of him. But the day you find out about the life growing inside you is the day you finally do.

Someone is knocking at the door of your bathroom. “Hey, you alright?”

You turn to see Crowe leaning by the doorframe, all strained smile and worried eyes, arms folded over her chest. She had been in Altissia on official Lucis Labs business these last couple of weeks; after learning she could not afford a single room in the Leville (“I’m afraid the accommodation for your trip is _currently_ out of our budget,” Ignis had happened to tell her, which she already knew was a code for _The collaboration with Niflheim Studios is fucking with our costs and overall finances,_ hence she did not pursue the subject any further), she opted crashing your place was a much more suitable option.

“You look like a hot mess,” she says, her face screwing into a frown. “You need me to buy something for you? Like, tea? I don’t know what kind of painkillers are safe for pregnant women, but I’ll go ask—“

“No, it’s okay, it’s fine,” you say hurriedly. _“I’m_ fine. You don’t have to.”

“Really? Are you sure?” Crowe studies you with a significant look. You can see in her eyes an unspoken question she is meaning to ask. But she does not ask. She exercises an unlikely tactfulness that does not seem to suit someone like her who never minces their words, veiled in a patience that seems to wait for you to open up and tell her, _No, I’m not, this isn’t fine, I don’t think I will ever be fine._

But these words never leave you. You swallow them into a smile and say, “Yeah, I’m sure.” You rake the hair back from your face. “Thank you.”

“Alright then.” Crowe nods thoughtfully, turns to take her leave. But she stops halfway. She circles right back around and looks at you with a serious expression you have come to know so well. “I know this is none of my business, but you know you don’t have to go through this on your own, right?” She rests a steady hand on your shoulder. “I’m here, and you can talk to me anytime, whenever you are ready. Okay?”

You weakly nod. “Yeah, okay.”

“Good. Now don’t even bother going to work—I’ll be dropping by AW, anyway, and I’ll let Weskham know you’re sick. You go get some rest. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Crowe smiles, gently pats you in the back. She edges imperceptibly towards the hallway and out of your sight. You close the door behind you, take a shower, press your head on the cold tile. You listen as Crowe goes through the motions of her own morning routine: the soft sizzle of the pan from the kitchen, the whistle from the kettle, the thrum of the bass from the stereo. None of it distracts you from the thoughts that seem to echo louder than the steady humdrum, nor the idea that has been troubling you for quite some time.

_Maybe I should try calling Noctis again…_

And you do. Well, not after a few moments of procrastination, of course—you know, get dressed, grab a slice of Crowe’s waffles, turn on the TV yet not quite watching anything for thirty minutes—with the hopes of maybe, quite possibly, you can sober up from the ridiculous idea. But the notion of it grows more stubborn by the minute. In the end, you could not resist. You fish your phone out, scroll through your contacts. You hover around Noctis’s name, and with a deep breath, you press the button.

The other line rings once, twice. Thrice. Four times. Five. He does not pick up, and you are only greeted by his almost too-mechanical voicemail. _Hi, this is Noctis. I’m either on a call or away from my desk. Please leave your name, number, and the reason you’d like to chat, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can._

A beep follows. A sudden surge of fear clogs your throat. How does one even begin this kind of message? If you have been more brazen, or more confident, you would have gone on to say _Hi, this is your ex, I am nine weeks pregnant with your child, please call back at your earliest convenience._ Or maybe a simple, _Hi, Noct, it’s been a while, we really need to talk._ But you are neither brazen nor confident at the moment. You are all too reckless and emotional and tired and really just straight up fucking hormonal.

So you do not say a word and you hang up. A breeze flutters through your windows to occupy the silence. You do not try calling him again.

 

* * *

 

At the breakfast table, Noctis has been awfully quiet. The selection of food before him is as appetizing as any feast, but he does not feel like eating. He has been staring out into the glimmering expanse of the Cygillan Ocean from the balcony of his hotel room, trying to distract himself from the wafting scent of coffee, bacon and pancakes, and caramel. Especially the _caramel._ A  strange thing to be sure, to shy away from relishing the signature delicacies of Hotel Leville at this fine, Altissian morning.

But for him, these simple pleasures only conjure the ghosts of all the memories he has of you.

It is almost a year and a half since Noctis last visited the city, yet everywhere feels like it has been suspended in time. Nothing seems to have changed: the warm sea salt breeze and ship-bourne markets; the vibrant thoroughfare and maze of streets; the throng of tourists lining up for gondola rides. Once, you had insisted that the two of you brave the long queue just so you could watch the lantern festival out by the docks. He still remembers that luminous night as if it was just yesterday: the sky encrusted by stars, the slow rise of paper lanterns trailing like fireflies, how your face was illuminated in the light. How he was caught by the teeth of your charm. How you kissed him without paying the gondolier any mind. How until now, he is still at the mercy of the memory of that night—and quite frankly, all his other days with you—all of which he thought he had forgotten. But he has not forgotten. He has never forgotten _you._

And him being here after all this time…

All he knows is your specter is all over the city. Every street and alley magnifies all of his shortcomings, his mistakes, the time he has lost.

Across from him, Ignis stirs from reading the morning paper, looks up at Noctis with an expression that is achingly conscious behind the reason of his brooding silence.

“Is everything alright, Noct?” Ignis asks; he folds the paper and sets it down. “We have a meeting at nine o’clock with—“

“By any chance, could you cancel all my meetings with Weskham and those annoying brats from Niflheim Studios this morning and move it tomorrow?” says Noctis, not meeting the keenness of Ignis’s curious gaze as he rises out of his seat. “Tell them it’s a personal emergency that I need to attend to.”

Ignis purses his lips for a moment, as if carefully crafting his response. He smiles. Then, he says, “Very well. Send _her_ my regards, then.”

Noctis scoffs. _Of course._ “That obvious, huh.”

“Frankly, it’s about bloody time.” Ignis pushes his glasses back to the bridge of his nose, takes a sip of coffee. “The fact that it took you more than a year to gather this courage to make amends is beyond me.”

“I, um… well—“ Noctis stammers, reaches for the back of his head; Ignis is never one to pull any punches, and that teasing jab is something Noctis knows that he rightly deserves. “It hasn’t been easy,” he adds sullenly.

Ignis sighs. “And I could only imagine it hasn’t been easy for her, either.”

Noctis does not say anything. He considers Ignis for a fraction of a moment. To be fair, Ignis is right. Surely, Noctis could not fault Ignis for taking your side; he had been the one assuaging all your worries when Noctis was constantly away on business. The splinter of truth in his words is a sharp dagger of guilt right through the heart. And yet, Noctis feels like there is more to it. He wills himself to probe further, and—

“I apologize for speaking out of turn,” Ignis says solemnly. “Do you need me to accompany you? Or Gladio, perhaps?”

“No, I can manage.” Noctis smiles, waves a diffident hand. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“Best of luck,” says Ignis as Noctis ambles away and out of the door.

 

* * *

 

Aiden’s cheery, bell-like laughter is swelling throughout the living room of your apartment—this utterly gregarious baby extremely amused with your exceptional talent in making silly faces—when you hear a knock at the door.

“Mummy’s going to be right back, Mr. Sweetface!” You give him a playful kiss and you hurry down the hall, unlatch the lock, and open the door with the remains of your beaming smile. “Hi, how can I— _oh.”_

You blink. The smile on your face immediately falters. With a numbing sense of disbelief, it takes approximately ten uncomfortable seconds for you to acknowledge that the man before you is Noctis.

“Hello,” he says. Even after all this time, the features of his face remain the same: his manner and bearing sharper, striking, yet much more handsome than before—truly and unjustly so; and those blue eyes, much like your son’s.

You open the door a little wider, still staring at him, letting the silence stretch longer than the first. “Hi,” you finally say.

“How are you?”

“Fine.”

He nods. “That’s great.”

“I didn’t know you were in town.”

“We just came in this morning. You know, for the merger.”

“Oh. Right.”

Another strained pause. It does not last long when Aiden’s delighted giggles burst the silence like a pin popping a balloon.

Noctis curiously peers over your shoulder. “Sorry, I—is that—“

“Shit, um—please come in,” you say, almost too hastily. Noctis is taken aback, slightly hesitating, but he indulges your invitation all the same. You usher him down the hall and into the white-washed brightness of your living room. “Have a seat,” you tell Noctis, gesturing to the couch as you pick Aiden up. “Congrats, by the way. For adding another gaming firm in your slowly growing empire.”

He squirms a little in his seat. “Well, I’m sorry—”

“Oh, we both know you’re not sorry,” you say dryly. He laughs. “Weskham’s been expecting that move for quite some time.”

“Right.” He pauses. Then: “He’s adorable,” he says with a strangely pleasant smile as Aiden waves at him, all bubbly and giggly.

“Yeah, he truly is.” The sudden quiver in your voice startles you. You clear your throat and say, “Well, he can get a little rowdy sometimes, but, yeah. Um—“ you bite your lip, trying to quell the sudden surge of emotion at the pit of your stomach— “would you mind if I take him back to his room first?”

“Sure,” says Noctis.

“C’mon, my Mr. Sweetface,” you say, pressing another kiss on Aiden’s chubby cheeks as you disappear into the next room, tucking him back to his crib. With Noctis briefly out sight, you take deep, shuddery breaths. You squeeze your eyes shut. You have imagined many a scenario on how you would run into Noctis one of these days, and quite frankly, this is _not_ one of them.

You heave another breath, steady your trembling hands, muster a year’s worth of hard-earned forbearance before you walk right back out into the living room. You see Noctis, hands on the pocket of his perfectly tailored pants, studying and browsing pictures of you and Aiden perched on your shelves.

“Didn’t know you had a kid,” he says, holding a frame in hand.

There are so many things you could say at this point, but instead, you choose to say nothing.

Seeming to sense your unease, Noctis turns to you and smiles warmly, the same way he always does whenever he reaches out to assuage any of your worries. “Where’s his dad?” he asks curiously. Then, raising a hand as if to backpedal, he gingerly adds, “I mean, if you don’t mind my asking. I’ll understand if you don’t want to talk about it… wait, is everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say, but your voice cracks. So does your façade of bravery. Maybe it’s Noctis’s voice that first brought you to tears, or probably how gently he raised such a curious question which he had every right to ask and had every right to know the answer. Or maybe, it’s how he carefully crossed the space between the two of you—no more open seas, no more distance and time—with such reassured steps.

He firmly rests his hands on your shoulders. “I’m sorry for prying, I shouldn’t have asked that—“

“No, no,” you croak. “It’s only right that you asked. And I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. I really am. And I…” You falter into a pause. “I didn’t mean to keep him from _you,_ Noct.”

You watch as the fine machinery of his face begin to grind into a slow realization. His hands fall away from you, his breath stutters into a hitch. “Wait, are you saying…”

You stare at him and nod.

He stares back. The blank expression on his face drifts to a quiet  yet seething shock. He falls back on the couch, buries his face in the palm of his hands.

“When exactly were you planning to tell me?” he says, after a long, excruciating silence.

You sigh. “To be honest, Noct? I’ve already tried. So _many_ times and in so many ways. You never returned any of my messages, never picked up when I called. I mean, sure, if you ask me, whoever’s your new personal assistant needs to get their shit together on sorting your business and personal affairs, but yeah—I get it. You’re a busy guy. Busier now, more than ever. And I… I just got tired of always being the only one trying to reach out.” You shake your head, press your hands together. “I mean, at some point, when I was five months pregnant, I went back to Insomnia and dropped by the office just to talk to you in person. But you weren’t there.”

He lifts an incredulous brow. “Wait, _you_ were in the city? How come I didn’t know about this?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” you say flatly. “That fella from Niflheim Studios—Ardyn, is it? He never told you, did he?”

“Hold on—“ his mouth twists into a grimace— “what’s Ardyn got to do with this—“

“He was the first one I saw when I dropped by the Citadel. I assumed he knew me; he called me by name, which I thought was strange. Anyway. I told him I had to see you. He said you were in Tenebrae for some conference, and he’d let you know as soon as he was able. When I didn’t get at least a single call or message from you, it’s either he never told you or you didn’t care at all—“

“That son of a bitch.” His face hardens, his hands curl into fists. “I swear, that bastard will pay for—“

“Noct.” You catch him by his wrist. “Please don’t.”

He says nothing, and so do you. This time, the silence that lingers is doused with regret. Noctis draws a heavy, wistful sigh. He slips his hand in yours. You let him.

“I always wonder what ever happened to us,” he says quietly.

“Life happened, that’s what,” you sniff with a small laugh. “I’m sorry for not trying harder—“

“No, no, _don’t—_ I’m the one who’s sorry, more than anything,” he says sharply, his voice on the brink of breaking. “I’m… I am _really_ sorry for letting you go through all of this alone. For not being here with you and _our_ son.” He wipes his eyes with one hand, the other shaking against yours. “And look—I’m not asking you to forgive me now. But I’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to you. If you would allow me.”

You consider Noctis for a while. He holds your gaze, firm and true. “Of course I would,” you hear yourself murmur under your breath, choking back the tears. “I would love nothing more.”

 

* * *

 

The bright Altissian sun in this summer morning has not changed in the last three years. But what has changed, however, is the company in which you keep.

In the balcony of your apartment, you watch Noctis make the silliest of faces in front of Aiden. The sound of their laughter rings like a song. The boy squeals “Daddy!” as Noctis takes him in his arms, pressing a kiss on his forehead, giving him a snuggle.

For a moment, Noctis turns to look at you and smiles. He does not say anything. Yet somehow, you know that this is more than enough.

 


End file.
